


And Who's Gonna Kiss Your Ruby Red Lips?

by Eastmava



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava
Summary: "And of course the scar, impossible to miss, carving an unsteady path of pink, shiny skin down his face. It doesn’t look infected and when Hux hesitantly pulls off a glove and rests the back of his hand beside it he feels no telltale heat of infection. But the skin is tight and flaky and it makes his own skin itch in sympathy. He’s amazed Ren hasn’t scratched it open but he supposes Ren may be too disgusted to bring himself to touch it."Kylo makes an unusual request.





	And Who's Gonna Kiss Your Ruby Red Lips?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helliskylux](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Helliskylux).



> A (belated, so very belated) birthday gift for the always amazing Helliskylux. Jen, you're always so wonderful. I can't tell you how much your friendship and kindness means to me. I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> I know she loves Kylo Amidala. That's not what this is, but it does deal with Kylo wearing makeup. I also know she loves fluff and hurt/comfort, and it definitely has a big dose of those two things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

While being General of the First Order’s flagship vessel carries a certain amount of prestige, the majority of Hux’s day is consumed with the less glamorous aspects- a desk perpetually piled with flimsi, a datapad that chirps constantly with notifications, and harried lieutenants constantly vying for his immediate attention.

 

One of the more tedious tasks he takes a secret pleasure in is requisitions. The majority are sorted and dealt with and never pass his desk, but there are always a few that require his approval, either because an officer flagged it or it was randomly selected for his approval as a security measure.

 

There's very little exciting about it, the majority of them are simple ship supplies, parts of broken systems and repairs, but there's a comfort in signing the requests, in knowing his signature will bring a needed part to keep his ship running smoothly.

 

But it's the personal requests that he really enjoys, the small insights into the personal lives of his crew when they seek small little luxuries usually denied to those who live on a space cruiser. He knows which of his crew have a sweet tooth, their requests for fine chocolates always popping up whenever they're making a supply run to a well developed planet. A requisition for flowers signals a possibly blooming romance, and Hux smiles a little smile as he approves it, makes a mental note to see who seems a little happier on the bridge tomorrow and try to guess who will be receiving the boon of Lieutenant Waverly’s affections.

 

It's the final request that makes him pause. Kylo Ren is no stranger to making demands of Hux; of his time, of his men, of his ship and his resources. And while Hux has personally approved parts to replace consoles damaged by Ren’s temper many times before, while Ren had stormed into Hux’s office and demanded Hux acquire whatever it is he needs, this is the first time a properly filled out requisition has ever been submitted by Ren.

 

He reads the request, reads it again when it refuses to make sense. Hux stands from his desk, pours himself a tumbler of whisky, inhales the smoky scent and rolls a small sip of the earthy golden liquid around in his mouth while he sits back down. Even on his fourth read through he still doesn't understand.

 

Ren is asking for the purchase of cosmetics. For personal use.

 

Concealer. Foundation. Setting powder.

 

Hux knows the words, knows they're all used for the face, for beautification, but doesn't know what their specific uses are for. Women on his crew have asked for them before, and while he doesn't understand the appeal Hux has always approved them, mystified but accepting that some things he'll simply never understand. He knows a healthy black market trade in regulation approved lipstick colors has popped up on the ship, has heard the rumors that a single tube of a sought after color can easily be traded for a week's worth of paperwork. So long as it doesn't affect the running of his ship Hux has always looked the other way.

 

But this, this is new.

 

Hux puts the requisition aside, drains the rest of his drink and sets the glass down on his desk, a few stray drops of amber liquid clinging to the rim and glistening in the harsh light of his office.

 

It’s not his usual practice to question his crew on their requests unless the request raises his suspicions. He either approves them or doesn’t, but as long as it isn’t harmful it’s none of his business what they’re being used for.

 

But this is so outside the realm of the usual that he finds himself stepping out of his office, boots clicking on the durasteel floor as he makes his way to Ren’s quarters, before he’s even licked the last trace of whisky off his lips. Hux is not a man given to self delusion. He learned quickly that to lead an army, to recognize the ability and skills of others, one must be first brutally honest and aware of their own capabilities and shortcomings, so he doesn’t lie to himself about his own motives.

 

Ever since Starkiller, ever since the night where he dragged a sobbing, bleeding, barely breathing Ren off of a collapsing planet, ever since he spent a sleepless night sitting vigil by Ren’s cot in Medbay, timing his own breaths to steady rise and fall of Ren’s bandaged chest, letting it lull him into an almost otherworldly sense of calm while he wondered if that was what Ren’s Force meditations were like, slipping out silently when Ren’s eyelids started to flutter open with wakefulness, he has seen little of the man. Ren has barely been on Hux’s bridge, and when summoned to the holochamber for meetings with Snoke Ren has appeared only right before they go in and left as soon as dismissed.

 

It had taken Hux some days to realize what the hollowed out feeling in his chest was, but once he recognized it he could no longer deny, he missed Ren.

 

It was an odd realization. He had never really missed anyone before. As a child he had longed for his mother, had spent nights crying silently wishing she would come take him away from Brendol’s cruel words and punishing fists, but that had been an abstract, a longing for what _should have_ been, not what once was.

 

How odd, that before Starkiller Hux would have given anything to be rid of Ren, but only after, after his great defeat, his humiliation, had that burning spark of hatred been extinguished, blotted out like the sun he had ordered the destruction of by watching Ren, paler than the bleached sheets in Medbay, looking so very young despite the slice to his face, whimper in pain even in his sleep.

 

They were both so young, both pulled into a war that had been fought longer than either of them had been alive. Both living lives that had been laid out for them with little input of their own.

 

Despite Ren’s mysticism of the Force, despite Hux’s practicality and belief in only the tangible, they were not so different.

 

When Hux arrives at Ren’s quarters he ignores the pad to request entrance and instead raps sharply against the durasteel door with his fist, listens to the sound echo into the quarters beyond. He waits, busies himself with smoothing his hair even though he knows it’s meticulous, and he’s tugging wrinkles that aren’t there out of his jacket when he hears the slow, heavy plod of boots on the other side. There’s a pause after the footsteps stop and Hux finds himself trying not to fidget, suddenly nervous, questioning why he’s really here, and then the door slides open.

 

“What do you want, Hux?” Ren asks with no ceremony.

 

Ren is not a small man, neither of them are, separated by only a scant inch, but Ren has always used that difference to his advantage, has always pulled himself tall and straight and tried to loom over Hux, the broadness of his shoulders and bulk of his robes giving him even more of a presence. But now he seems smaller, lessened, his shoulders hunched and hair lank, half swallowed by the gloom of his darkened room.

 

Ren doesn’t protest when Hux steps by him into his quarters but he doesn’t miss the way Ren flinches away, the stuttered half step back to ensure no part of them touches.

 

“Why are you here?” Ren asks again when Hux is inside and the door closed. The lights are off and Hux has to blink to adjust his eyes to the darkness.

 

“Why are the lights off?”

 

“What do you want, Hux?” Ren asks again, voice tight with frustration. Interesting, he had half expected to be thrown out when he tried to force his way in, but Ren seems to have no fight today.

 

“I’m going through personal requisitions,” he finally answers

 

“Oh,” is all Kylo says, and Hux will deny on his deathbed that he’s soft, but the sadness packed into that one little noise, something that may be shattered hope making Ren’s voice crack in the middle of the syllable, makes him pause, choose his next words carefully.

 

“What are they for?”

 

“I’m quite certain you know what cosmetics are used for, General,” Ren responds, and his words are icy, but Hux is certain the cold tone is only there to try and cover a rawness that otherwise might shine through the words. “Do you personally go bother everyone on the ship about how they spend their personal credits? Surely a busy general has more important things to do?”

 

Hux takes a deep breath, tells himself he will not let Ren goad him into a fight. “I’m aware of what cosmetics are used for, yes. What I’m wondering is why you’re requesting them.”

 

“Approve them or don’t. It doesn’t matter,” Ren grits out and he makes to walk past Hux, heads to the door of his sleeping quarters. Hux, wildly, desperately, reaches out and grabs Ren’s arm. The touch stills Ren instantly for one tremulous moment, and then he wrenches himself away.

 

“Tell me, Ren,” he says, voice low, and he suddenly, viscerally remembers the stray, skinny, half-feral hound that had come sniffing around their house on Arkansis one day when he was young, remembers watching one of the kitchen women, her grey hair a long braid hanging down her back, put out scraps for it and speak softly until it overcame it’s fear and tentatively walked up to sniff the meat. It’s one of the few moments of selflessness he’s ever witnessed, and Hux draws on the memory of it now, holds a hand out the same way she did and takes a small, slow step toward Ren, his desire to run, to hide, clearly written in the tenseness of his muscles. “Please,” he speaks, “I just want to understand.”

 

Ren has his arms crossed in front of himself, elbows gripped in his hands, and he looks like nothing so much as a scared child. It’s a shock, to realize that this small, frightened creature must’ve been what was brought to Snoke, and he feels anger flare at the thought that Snoke took not a Knight, not a powerful Force user, but a lost child, shaking and scared and, just like the hound, terrified that any kindness will be quickly yanked away, leaving him only wanting.

 

Hux hadn’t thought he had much of a heart left, but he must, because he can feel it aching for the poor thing standing in front of him.

 

“Please,” he asks again, and gently lays a hand on Ren’s crossed arms. Ren stiffens but doesn’t run. “Explain it to me.”

 

“You wouldn’t understand. You can’t possibly understand,” Ren tells him, voice a small whisper that’s almost lost in the heavy darkness.

 

“Why couldn’t I?”

 

“Because you’re not a hideous monster!” Ren shouts, and jerks away from Hux’s touch, turns around, and at first Hux thinks the shaking of Ren’s shoulders is just his eyes trying to focus in the darkness but then he hears a hiccuped sob.

 

“Lights, 20 percent,” he calls into the darkness, and even so low the light burns after so much darkness.

 

“Leave me,” Ren tries to command, but the words tremble. Hux turns him with a hand on his shoulder and Ren goes, reluctantly and slowly, but he doesn’t seem to have the will to fight anymore. His head is ducked and even in the low light Hux can see that Ren hasn’t been taking care of himself. His curls are lank and greasy and for the first time Hux realizes there’s the acrid tang of sweat clinging to Ren and he wonders if Ren has washed himself at all. His face is drawn as if he hasn’t been eating and his skin is splotchy, maybe from the tears gathering in his watery eyes but Hux would guess it hasn’t been cleansed. He wouldn’t be surprised to brush aside those oily bangs and find breakouts on Ren’s forehead.

 

And of course the scar, impossible to miss, carving an unsteady path of pink, shiny skin down his face. It doesn’t look infected and when Hux hesitantly pulls off a glove and rests the back of his hand beside it he feels no telltale heat of infection. But the skin is tight and flaky and it makes his own skin itch in sympathy. He’s amazed Ren hasn’t scratched it open but he supposes Ren may be too disgusted to bring himself to touch it.

 

Ren draws in a shaky breath when Hux softly touches the back of curled knuckles to the tract of scar tissue, lets the fingers unfurl to settle against his cheek, scratchy with dark stubble. “For this?” He asks, and they both seem to have stopped breathing. “This is what you want them for?”

 

Ren nods, slowly, eyes slipping closed. “Yes. I just want,” he starts, then pauses, swallows. “I just don’t want it to be the only thing people see. I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I understand?”

 

“Maker Hux, look at you. You’re, you’re so,” Ren trails off with a shake of his head. “I was ugly enough before. I don’t need to be reminded that it’s even worse.”

 

Hux considers his next words, heart beating wildly. He’s negotiated with a blaster to his head without so much as a quickening to his pulse, called for the destruction of the Republic without a waver in his voice, but now he feels like there isn’t enough air in his lungs, the words sticky on his tongue. “You like the way I look?” Ren blinks his eyes open and says nothing but the way he catches his lower lip between his teeth is all the answer Hux needs. He cups Ren’s chin in his hand and the finger resting right on Ren’s pulse feels the throbbing of the blood, kicking in Ren’s veins, a reminder that they’re both here, they both survived the fall of Starkiller. He pulls that plush, bitten lip out from Ren’s teeth and watches Ren’s eyes go wide. “Ren. Kylo. I’ll approve the requisition if you really want, but you don’t need those things.”

 

Ren’s lips part, ever so slightly, and Hux hopes it’s the invitation he thinks it is.

 

Hux has a bathtub in the refresher of his quarters, one which actually uses water. He thinks maybe he’ll take Ren there, fill it with warm water and pull Ren in with him, scrub those matted curls clean then work the tangles out himself. Maybe Kylo will even let him rub some bacta on his scar to relieve the itch. Ren clearly hasn’t been taking care of himself and he’s pretty sure the kitchens still have some of the sticky sweet fruit they picked up last time they were planetside. He could order some delivered to his quarters, maybe, if he thinks Kylo would let him get away with it, feed him bites of the fleshy fruit from his own fingers.

 

But that’s later. For now, all he wants is to learn if Kylo’s lips are as soft as they look.

 

(They are.)

 

____

 

“What’s that?” Kylo asks, looking up from where he’s spread on Hux’s bed when Hux steps inside.

 

There’s a spring to his steps, a lightness to his footfalls, as he walks over and presses a kiss to Kylo’s waiting mouth before shaking the bag in question to make the contents rattle. Kylo grabs it from him and tosses the ribbon tying it closed aside without a thought. “What is it?” He asks again as he tips it over.

 

“Cosmetics,” Hux tells him, and Kylo’s eyes flash with hurt, because he’s just started to believe Hux when he calls him handsome, beautiful, his priceless treasure, his face falling because how stupid could he be, to believe all that, and surely Hux must hate the scar as much as he does, but instead of powders and brushes and creams falling out of the bag only a slim, gold tube rolls into his palm.

 

“Is this-?”

 

“Lipstick,” Hux confirms, and plucks it away to pull off the top and twist the bottom of the tube. The stick is a deep red, shiny, and Kylo watches, jaw slack, as Hux carefully applies it to his own lips. He’s sure he does a horrid job, knows if he looked in the mirror the line would be shaky and uneven, but the majority of it seems to be on his lips and Kylo can’t seem to look away so he counts it as a success. It tastes faintly of vanilla but mostly just of chemicals, and when he rubs his lips together the texture is both slippery and sticky.

 

He climbs onto Kylo’s lap, tilts his face up with a hand under his chin and kisses those perfect lips. When he draws back the color has transferred, a dark red slash on Kylo’s mouth. He holds Kylo’s chin steady in his hand while he carefully outlines those lips with the lipstick, dabs it precisely on the corners and slides it over the fullness of the bottom lip.

 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and trails a line of kisses up the curve of the scar, drops one at the corner of each eye, the bridge of Kylo’s nose, tucks one right below his ear. He leans back to study his handiwork and Kylo’s fingers scrabble at the fastenings of his jacket, push it off his shoulders and haul Hux close with a fist in his undershirt before pulling the collar aside to suck a kiss along the wing of a collarbone.

 

Kylo’s eyes are dark with lust when Hux pushes him flat with a hand to his chest, leans down to whisper filthy, filthy words against Kylo’s ear that make him moan and squirm and buck his hips.

 

By morning the sheets are a stained mess and both their bodies are covered with the faint imprints of lips.

  
  
~End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you made it this far and enjoyed it please consider feeding the author and leaving a comment or kudos!
> 
> You can come find me on Tumblr at
> 
> cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com
> 
> Let's talk about what color lipstick these boys would look good in!


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